


Negotiable Virtue

by ninhursag



Series: The Narrow Way [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Endgame Leonard Snart/Mick Rory/Sara Lance, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Sexual Violence, Timey-Wimey, Touch-Starved, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-11-27 08:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18192059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: The times that someone tried to negotiate for Lenoard Snart’s virtue and the time he gave it away for free.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bad things happen to people who don't have a clue how bad they really are because their normal meter is so fucked.
> 
> Unrecognized trauma and how it impacts a person.
> 
> People we like being horrible to each other.

1992

Len kicked his legs up on the table and leaned back to watch Mick watch the girl. She was everything obvious, blonde and busty and wearing a garter belt.

Mick wasn't exactly subtle either. He was broadcasting his potential customer status loud and clear. All, “Come on baby, come meet me out back. I have an eight inch dick.” 

Romantic crap like that.

The girl, Krystol or something like that looked a little bored but willing enough. They whispered some sweet somethings at each other, probably settling on price.

Len didn’t really pay attention until Krystol started pointing at him, and saying something smirky and satisfied that made Mick huff and mutter. She winked at Len and made a kissy face, which he ignored.

He considered asking what was so funny but Mick didn't make him wait. “Hey, boss. Krystol says it's half price if you're in too. Only $100 for the whole night with her.”

Len rolled his eyes and took another swig from his beer. “That's nice but I think my virtue is worth more than a $100 discount from Krystol.”

Krystol pouted and sashayed over. Her boob job was actually pretty decent. Springy looking enough to seem almost real from a short distance. Her lips were red and her eyes were blue, lined in dark black eyeliner. “Fine. $50.” 

Len laughed. “You have to value yourself, Krystol. I charged more than that when I was fifteen and desperate.”

Mick made a face and didn't look at him. “Not funny, boss.” 

Krystol just grinned back and stole a swig of his beer when he put it down. “Well I ain't paying you even if you have a fine ass. A girl's got principles.” Then she looked back at Mick. “$100 for just a blow job then?”

“Sure I'm in for that,” Mick said and they both got up and retreated out back. They both had pretty fine asses themselves if Len was any judge. He definitely didn't mind watching.

“Did you really?” Mick asked him about a half an hour later when he and Krystol re-emerged from the alley. Still drunk and curious. A little bit too close to where Len was perched on his barstool but not enough to be uncomfortable. “Charge for it?”

“Why? Sad you didn't get in on the ground floor when prices were reasonable?” Len gave a showy yawn, big and full of teeth. 

Mick made a face at him. “Maybe. You saying I couldn't afford it now?” 

“Not if you're haggling over rates with Krystol, you can't.” Len laughed and stood up, with the precise movements of the not quite drunk but not really sober. He could feel the eyes on his back as he sauntered off to get another beer.

Mick was still watching him when he came back, like he'd never seen him before. “Maybe you'd like it?” He offered. “Krystol loves it. And Sherri from over there. And Arlene with the massages.”

Len snorted. “They tell you that, sure.”

He had the creeping feeling he just made a huge mistake, but Mick doesn't start offering him his eight inch dick on the regular. Not exactly.

 

1987

Len finished tucking the cash into the waistband of his jeans when literal Boba Fett came strolling down into the alley. Complete with the face mask and the cool ass looking suit. 

“How much?” Literal Boba said. He even had a voice distorter that made him sound mechanical and raspy, like a walking special effect. 

Len’s eyebrows climbed way up. “$75 for a blow job. Is there a Star Wars convention I missed? Because you can use what you win for the costume contest to pay me.”

Boba breathed some distorted air. “No,” he said and turned and walked away.

Len was vaguely disappointed but honestly relieved because that was weird and he didn't actually need to be known as the guy murdered by Boba Fett while turning tricks. Well, there were probably worse things to be known for but he did have a five year old to feed otherwise she'd be the one turning tricks for Pedo Claude Darbyinian or something equally disgusting.

Of course he ran into Boba Fett about three blocks from his bus stop. Or more like he got run over by him. And grabbed and shoved into another alley, back to the wall. And his brain goes a million miles a second because Boba is fucking strong and about the size of two of Len.

There are hands on his wrists and he kicks out in pure instinct, twisting like a snake to get away. Hands and he's white panic, fast breath, can't see. 

“Don't touch me. Don't. Get your hands off me,” he doesn't beg, he doesn't. His voice is not even loud because even if someone hears they are not going to help him, just as likely to join in, and he knows it and no no no.

“Stop. Stop fighting me, Snart,” that weird, distorted voice and he can't stop fighting because relentless hands are pinning him down and the guy knows his name. A friend of dad’s? What the fuck? And, “Stop. I brought what you asked for. Breathe.”

And something is shoved into his hands. A wad of thick greasy currency he can recognize the weight of by touch and he can't breathe and what the fuck. The bricks of the alley dug into his skin and he's probably got bleeding scrapes from fighting against it. His wrists hurt. Boba is not even panting.

Len's eyes were painfully dry from not crying. His fists are stuffed with cash. He looks at them. High currency bills. $100s, lots of them.

He straightened his spine and tried to keep steady but couldn’t. “What do you want for this?” Because this is not $75 for a blowjob. This is massive, pay for Lisa's day camp all summer money and buy her enough to eat while she's at home. And clothes and a pair of shoes that fit. This is not throw away money and this guy just threw it out on him. And Len can't stop shaking. 

Boba's hand curled around Len's face. His gloves are thick leather, too hot. Too soft. The fingertips stroke the planes of a cheekbone. Len isn't begging, he still can't breathe.

“Do you like it?” Boba asked, like he didn't care about the answer, didn’t stop touching to hear it. The question didn't even make sense. His hand strokes down over Len's collar, pulling down enough to touch skin. Glance over a not yet healed cigarette burn on Len's left shoulder and then pause at the flinch. “Do you want it, Snart? Tell me.”

“Um sure. Yeah sure.” Len's hands were still above his head, not held there by anything but his own will anymore. Flexing, clutching the money. “Whatever you want… just… yeah,” he said. His voice does not shake. His skin crawls. There are hands on him. Causal and exploratory, under his shirt. Pressing on bruises and ghosting over old scars.

“Liar,” Boba growled. His hands hurt. The promise of violence. Too close.

Len swallowed. “Ok. You got me. I'm just doing it for the money. But you're hot. I'm definitely hot for Star Wars, dude. It's fine.” 

“Still lying.” Boba's gloved hand teased at the snap of Len's jeans. Then the sharp clicking sound of them opening. “You're hard, though. What are you, fifteen? You like having someone grope you for money?”

“Yeah, whatever. But I've done this. I can earn the money.” A whimper. “I mean, you like it, don't you, Boba fucking Fett?” A gasp, a hand on his stomach over another burn. He couldn't stop another flinch. Made himself talk over it, like he could draw attention away. “Makes you feel powerful, right?”

An indrawn noise, like a denial, a no. Expect it’s a no that didn’t come from Len, so it's a real no. The snap of his jeans is shut without touching him further, loud, it echoes in the narrow alley. He shakes so hard. Keep it together.

“No. Can't. Too young,” Boba hisses and then backs off, like Len is the one who burned him. Hurt him. “You're too young. I knew that you would be. Why couldn't you want to do this when you weren't...”

Leaves him there gasping for air. Not shaking. Turned around and walked away.

“Aw, come on, you say I'm too young. Claude Daribynian just told me I was too old now. But hey, I’m up for it,” Len yelled at his back. Thing was Boba didn't take back the money like Len thought he would. It was like he forgot it was there.

So Len was abandoned, panting, the skin of his thighs scraped from the brick behind him and hands twisted over his head still gripping tight to Lisa's money. His dick was so hard it was painful. He stuffed the money into his pocket and then grabbed himself, hard and tight and rough.

“Fuck you, Boba,” he seethed as he brought himself off too fast, making sure it hurt. “I don't, I don't. I don't want to do this. I don't fucking like it.” But the semen splattered on his hands and the money tucked away made it lie. Maybe he did. Maybe he deserved it.

The next day they found a body bludgeoned in an alley, face so beaten in they needed dental records to identify it as Claude Daribynian. Everyone assumed the asshole had finally picked on a kid whose parents gave a damn what happened to it.

1997

Len was studiously not looking at his little sister. He had blueprints and schedules to study and a job to plan. After all that casino till was not going to knock over itself and if he planned it wrong he'd have worse than heat after him. The place was mob run, which made it much more entertaining and target rich and also dangerous.

Mick was hanging out by the couch playing with matches and mostly ignoring Snart family drama. Fortunately Len'd paid extra for the fire retardant pillows.

He could feel Lisa glare at him, not caring that she was being ignored. In as much as it was possible to ignore a 15 year old in thigh high lace up Docs and a babydoll dress that barely grazed the bottom of her ass cheeks. “Fuck you, Lenny. I do not look like a slut,” she seethed. “Anyway, you’re a whore.”

He shrugged and didn’t look up from him plans. The new security guard had a smack habit and would probably be nodding by three am, which was too good an advantage to pass up. “Ex-whore, thank you very much, which paid for a lot of diapers, ice skating lessons and summer camp. At least I’m not a slut. You can’t wear that shit out of the house.”

“At least I’m not a ex-whore who is afraid of touching anyone.” Len sighed. What the fuck teenagers were the worst.

Mick actually looked up from his fire play to interject, “It’s true, you're locked up tighter than fort knox. Got people panting to look at your ankles like those weirdo terrorist chicks hiding bombs in their robes on the news.”

“Et tu, Mick?” Len muttered. “Do you wanna babysit Lisa on her date?”

“Don't you talk about my brother like that, you creepy racist pyro freak, he can be a whore nun if he wants to be,” Lisa hissed at the same time. “And I'm not going on a date. I'm going with you. On the job. I can distract the guards.”

Len finally looked up. With what he hoped was a withering glare. Most people he took on jobs withered under the glare. Not his teenage sister, but most people. “No,” he said. “You are not.”

“I’m not a racist, why am I a racist--”

“Yes I am, you don’t get to tell me what to do, you… you whore nun.” 

Lisa and Mick both talked over each other and Len rubbed his forehead. This was going nowhere he wanted it to. 

”First, at least I’m not a trainwreck slut who is going to end up roofied and pregnant. And second, Mick, all I need you to say is she can’t come on the job, not whatever the hell you're talking about now. And third, can you two go away so I can plan?”

Mick obediently wandered back to playing with matches muttering about the PC police.

Lisa, on the other hand, did not. “Sure as soon as you say I can come with you. Come on, Lenny, it will be educational! Please? Please?” 

“You know what? No. You can’t wear that dress out and you can’t come on this job with us. Now, go fucking do your math homework.” He definitely had a headache.

“You know what? You’re not dad, Lenny. You can’t tell me what to do.” Oh right, the big guns.

“No. If I were dad, I’d cut two inches off the hemline, put you out on the streetcorner and take half of what you get, if you’re lucky. And if not you'd get 7-11 hotdog money.” Fortunately dad was safely behind bars for at least the next 6-10 and not an issue at present. 

“But you’d take me on the job. If you were dad instead of an overprotective whore nun.” She was pouting. 

“You can’t go on the job, Lisa. And go put on a fucking sweater and some pants, ok! And do your homework or you are going to grow up to be a whore. Not a nun, just a whore!” 

“No need! I'm going to be a thief like you. Just, you know. Train me! Take me on jobs!” Her hands were on her hips. He calculated the odds of her sneaking after them and screwing up the plan. 

The odds were high. Fuck. He needed a distraction.

“Ok. This is a family job,” he said. “It’s really dangerous. Would you settle for a nice financial firm job? They have very expensive, tasteless art and shit security.”

“Oh, Lenny, yes that would be amazing!” she squealed and then flung herself at him. He tentatively hugged her back. “Can I wear this dress?”

Mick called glumly from the couch. “Snart's right you look slutty in that dress. I'd hit on you.”

Len took a deep breath. “Don't you hit on my 15 year old sister, Jesus.”

Mick raised his hands, dropping a match. Score one for flame retardants. “I wasn't! Come on! First I'm a creepy racist and now this!”

Lisa nodded, both arms still wrapped tight around Len's shoulders in a way he managed to tolerate with careful breaths, evenly spaced and a reminder it was her. “Yuck! He wasn't. He only has eyes for one Snart and it's not me. Poor Mick, it had to be the one who took the ex-whore vow of chastity.”

That was it. Len stood up, spilling Lisa off his lap and gathering up his notes. “Fuck you both, I'm going somewhere quiet to get drunk.”

1974 (via 2016)

Len leaned back on his elbows and exchanged a smirk with Sara while Mick followed the curvy redhead onto the dancefloor with his tongue hanging out. Then off the floor again and somewhere out back after what where clearly some hushed negotiations.

“He looks like he's having fun,” she said and shook her head.

“Naturally.” Len responded, lips still curved up. “She did look like she had a handle on him. And I hear tell he's a good customer.” He shrugged and took another pull off his beer.

“So you and he aren't…?” She let the words trail off meaningfully. 

He laughed like it was a joke. “I'm not interested in customers, thanks. Why earn it when you can steal it fair and square?”

She nodded like he'd said something profound. That was the fun of drinking with her. Small but deadly meant she might kick ass in a fight but he had the mass in a drinking competition. “True that. Like these days, I don't need to be hired to kill people. I can do it for righteous fun. I’m the heroic killer.” 

“Sure,” he said because he wasn't going to touch that one. 

“So you and he,” she pointed vaguely to where Mick had gone, “Not for fun either?” 

“Nope. Sometimes he makes a proposal, but no.” It was a joke by now, maybe always had been. Maybe someday Len might say yes to mix it up. Maybe not, if he hasn’t in the last thirty years.

Her head tilted in speculation. She put her now empty drink down, leaving her hands were on the table, splayed open in front of him. Empty. Not like she’d need a weapon to kick his ass though, even a little drunk. She smiled. “Why not? Wrong type of proposal?”

“Maybe?” he drawled. “It’s been a while since I’ve followed up on anyone's proposal. These days I can afford to be... particular and the offers I’ve gotten haven’t been what I’m looking for.” 

“And if the right offer came along?” She didn't lean forward and maybe she wasn't drunk at all. She was carefully not in his space or even close to it. But facing him. Inviting him into hers with her smile. 

She was being so careful in her body language without saying a word. Trained to it the hard way, just like he was trained to recognize it.

“I'll know it when I see it.” If. He thought for a moment about what she wasn't saying. “What do you get out of it?” Unless the game is that he doesn't find out until afterwards.

There's something in her face then he doesn't like. A sadness. Barry Allen looked at him that way until Len made him stop by any means necessary. Sara Lance wasn’t supposed to feel sad about him. “Nothing, not like you mean,” she said. “Fun. Feeling a connection with someone I like and want to get closer to. I like sex. I like you.”

“People do like it,” he replied, like it didn’t matter. He closed his eyes. Thinking about it. When he opened them again she smiled at him, light and easy going and went to get them another round of drinks. 

Sat back down across the table, not next to him.

They played a round of darts instead of talking about it more, just talked shit about hand eyes coordination. Mick showed up around round three, lipstick stained and grinning. Pleased with his conquest and bragging about that 70’s all natural snatch. “She loved it,” he said. “Begged for round two.”

Len and Sara shared a shrug.

Len stopped Sara a week later, when she was headed to her room after a card game. Paused, closer in her space than he'd usually go. In arms reach.

“Can I… raincheck the offer? If you're still interested,” he said. He scratched at his head and smiled ruefully. This wasn't normal. She knew… she obviously knew that there was something wrong… with him. But she seemed to normalize it, like their wrong parts might interact… well. And he was thinking about it, and not just in the locked privacy of his bed.

She smiled at him, sweet and sharp. She reached out then and caught his hand for a second, in a gesture that surprised him, but telegraphed enough he could have dodged it if he needed to. He didn't. Fingers threaded through fingers. “I can wait,” she said. “One thing a timeship has a lot of is time.”

He didn't turn around to catch Mick watching him, eyes wide and then narrowed. 

 

2046

Mick had a girl on either arm and a fuck off stare when he approached the spot where Len was lounging at the bar.

“How about this?” He unwinds an arm from one of the girls and dumps the contents of his pockets on the bar in front of Len.

“How about what? Some pocket lint. A parking ticket. And a very large piece of very expensive jewelry.” Len tilts his head back. “Ok. How about it?”

“It's the Verazzano emerald,” Mick says. “Blondie stolen you any emeralds lately?” He nudges Len meaningfully with a knee. Len doesn't retreat from the touch but doesn't lean into it either.

He picks up the green stone instead. Frowns. “Not Sara's speed. It's very sparkly. Lisa would love it.”

“What about you? Can I afford you now?” Len almost laughs until he catches Mick's eye and realizes it isn't necessarily a joke.

“Sure. If it weren't a lab created fake that is. Or, if I couldn’t have stolen it myself if I wanted it. Or maybe-- just maybe-- you're missing the point. Maybe I don't fucking like it.” He watches Mick's face turn red and take a step back. His hands twitch but he doesn't say another word.

Mick growls and stalks away. He almost calls him back. This joke isn't funny anymore. It's not even a joke. And maybe that's always been the problem.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More super iddy id fic. Some resolution as they deal with Chronos.
> 
> Just an epilogue to go! I think this does end the emotional arc 
> 
> However I have a half written story with a plot of sorts that fits in timelinewise between the end of chapter 2 and the epilogue so I may have that one first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: serious non-con elements.
> 
> A hopeful resolution.

In the temporal zone

Len had his hands cuffed to the wall of Chronos’ time ship and was trying to keep cool about it. He could almost feel the gaze through the visor, strange and searching.

He'd had this dream from fifteen deep into his twenties, his own personal Boba Fett holding him down. Captured and pinned and then not… not quite taken. Wondered for a long time if he'd dreamed the whole thing .

Maybe past his teens and into his 20s. Of course it was fucking Chronos all along. Why wouldn't it have been?

It's not as um, captivating, in real life as it was in his own bed behind doors that were locked and booby trapped to his satisfaction. They hadn't been able to reconstruct Claude Darbyinian’s face. The things Lisa had said about… that time, what the man in the mask had done. He knew what Chronos was now.

“I didn't recognize you at first. You're the asshole who pounded old pedo Claude into powder in 1987.” You're the asshole in the alley who touched me like he owned me. Who told me I was lying, that I didn't like it. Which was true.

Chronos stepped closer. “He touched what didn't belong to him.”

Len shrugged, kept his eyes where Chronos’ should be if he were human. “I prefer to decide who gets to touch and who doesn't.” He didn't want it. Not that it mattered then or now.

“Well you should have thought of that before, Snart.” Right, he should have. Didn't want to. How the hell to play this with a guy whose face you couldn't see?

Len nodded and leaned back. Ok, he'd wanted something back in that grimy back alley, Chronos was human enough for that. Len let his legs spread casually, posture loosen a little, as much as his position allowed. Loose and ready. Up for it. Body memory still ingrained decades later. “Right. Well I'm all chained up with nowhere to go so the ball's in your court now.”

There was a hand on his face, grabbing his chin hard and forcing him up. He didn't flinch because he'd prepped for it. Relax, relax. “You're still a whore after all then.” If it weren't for the mask there'd be spit on his skin. “Do you like it now?”

“Does it matter? You didn't grab your boy Rip and unless you're just infatuated with my sparkling personality and amazing ass there's a reason you picked me.” The hand on his face tightened painfully. “Kill me, fuck me, the least you could do is tell me what's going on.”

“You should have figured it out by now.” Chronos took a step back, releasing him, and pulled off his helmet.

Leonard stopped breathing when he recognized his partner's face. The partner he’d dumped in a time pocket, alive the last time he's seen him. Pissed as fuck, but ok, sanish. Not a fucking bounty hunter for the fucking Time Masters.

Mick looked him over and shook his head at whatever he saw. “After all, I am supposed to be the dumb one.”

“Mick,” he whispered. “How? What the hell is going on? I deserve to know.”

“You deserve nothing,” Mick said. His eyes though. Blank loathing. A swallowing hunger.

“Says the man who brought time pirates aboard the waverider. The guy who was-- what the hell were you doing with my younger self?”

“So I played around with little whore Lenny, so what? You left me in hell, Snart. The Time Masters found me there. Rebuilt me. Reconstructed me after my partner abandoned me. Betrayed me.” And of course it came to this.

Len shook his head. “The plan was to kill you but I didn't. I had to… you weren't safe. I was going to come back. When it was safe to have you around. I was going to come back.”

Mick laughed roughly. “Sure you were. You just lost track of time. The Time Masters are the ones that found me. Wanna know what they did to me? To make me into this?”

Len swallowed, tried to draw back when Mick got closer. The cuffs holding him had no give, no obvious spot he could pick them even if he could get at the tools to do so. Nowhere to go even if he magically could get out of them.

And then Mick smiled.

“I’ve had lifetimes of torture to think about what I was going to do to you when I had you back. I could take you anywhere. Back to Central City and pick up Lisa. Baby sister could watch me fuck you. Think she'd like that?” Mick had that same half dreamy smile he got for fire. Barely aware of anything other than what he's picturing.

What Len is now picturing too. What he was supposed to be too fucking old to ever have to picture anymore.

“Yeah that's nothing she hasn't seen before. Is that supposed to psych me out?” She didn't want to. He didn't want her to see it. It hadn't mattered. That shit was supposed to be years behind them. He squeezed his eyes shut. Opened.

For a moment Mick paused. Looked back at him.

“And then you can watch me kill her when you're all sore from my dick,” then Mick continued as if Len hadn't said a word. “I could do it more than once that's the beauty of time travel. Try out all kinds of positions. Fast or slow. Painful. Hey maybe if you're good enough I might change my mind and let her live.”

“Mick…” he wondered if it would help to beg. He could, for Lisa. The helpless rage swamped him and he couldn’t find the words.

Mick met him rage for rage. “Chronos. Mick’s gone. All I have from Mick is hating you. Making you suffer.”

Len nodded, his anger breaking under the force of the words. “Fine. Then do it. Just leave Lisa out of it. What I did... she didn't do it.”

“Of course. You're a hero now. Locked up tighter than fucking Fort Knox unless it’s to protect Lisa. Too good for me.” Mick spat. “You were supposed to be my partner. You left me. You didn't come for me.”

“I’m not a fucking hero, Mick. You win, ok? I’m yours, if you haven't noticed.” He nodded down to himself. Bound and ready like a package. “Do what you’re going to do.”

“Don’t fucking lie. Did you know how many times I’ve gone through your timeline, Snart? Not just the time I let you remember, that I let stick. You always play the fucking martyr if I push. Never-- you never want it. Me.”

Len just stared at him. Mick still wasn’t touching, had stepped back enough for breathing room. Let him think. Even breathing, the feeling of cuffs on his wrists, already bruised from fighting the bindings. The smell of the jumpship. The sound of Mick’s familiar voice.

“Maybe you should reconsider your approach then?” he said, like it was really Mick, his Mick, he was talking to and not Chronos. Mick who tried but never too much. “Consider that you can stop trying to do the same thing and expect different results?”

“Yeah, fine, I get it, you have your vow of chastity or whatever Lisa called it.” Mick made a face at him. “Except you don’t. You fucked fucking Sara Lance. What did she pay you that I couldn't?”

Len shook his head. “She didn't.” He didn't say he'd never fucked her. That wasn't the point. “She didn't act like I liked it, like I was waiting for the right offer. I didn't. I didn't like it.”

“But what did she give you? What made her good enough?” Mick's face. So intent. Bitter. “She isn't your partner but you picked her.”

Len shook his head “Nothing. I didn't pick shit. What you want isn't for sale.”

Mick growled. “Other people bought it.”

Len laughed. “You want to fuck me like those people? We’ve covered that I'm at your fucking mercy. You wouldn't be the first and you know it. Want me to pretend like I like it? Make me believe you won’t go after Lisa and I'll do anything you want and you know that too, fucking Boba Fett.” Len watched Mick pace back and forth. His stomach twisted. Waiting.

Mick stopped. Stood in front of him. Closer again. In Len's face. “So, unless I’m a rapist, forget it. What if I don’t want to be a fucking rapist?”

“Well then here’s a brilliant idea. DON’T BE. How about you, I don’t know, let me out of this and then we can figure out where to go from here?” Not likely.

“Right. Like I could forget. You want a hero. Fine.” Mick's arm shot out and Len was halfway to flinching back as far as the cuffs on him allow but it was just a punch in the face. Just pain. And then another. And then lights out.

 

1990

Len could hear the sound of a little girl crying over the buzzing in his head and the sound of someone laughing and it wouldn't stop. Knocked out. He'd been knocked out. Maybe concussed. His stomach was too empty to puke but he wanted to.

The countdown in his head restarted. Didn't know how long he'd been unconscious. One minute since he woke up.

There was a hand on him that he tried to back away from but he couldn't move far. Hands. His hands were cuffed to something. Face to a headboard. He could smell blood.

The girl was crying. Soft, hopeless sobs. There were hands on him. Someone was laughing. It hurt. Bruises. Digging hands.

“Shouldn't have horned in on our heist. You fucked us, we fuck you, Snart. We all know you like it. Get rid of the clothes.” A voice, hard, digging fingers.

“Can't,” he muttered. “A little tied up here.”

Laughter. A rough slap on his bare ass. Why was his ass bare? Who was crying? Three minutes.

He tried to raise his head. Dizzy. It hurt. Caught the glimpse of a pink shirt and sparkling unicorn sneakers he'd helped lace up this morning.

What? Wait no. This wasn't supposed to--

“No, no, stop it. Let her go,” he heard himself say. The words automatic, but stupid. Just giving ammo to whoever--

“No one touched her. Yet. She's insurance. Make us happy and no one will lay a hand on her. Don't and she gets to trade places with you.” A sob. Who was crying? “Little young but all ass is pink in the dark.”

“Lenny,” the girl sobbed. He grit his teeth. He was going to kill someone. Paint the walls with blood. Five minutes.

There's a sound of something. Snick. Knife. He went still. Felt the cold of the flat of it. Dull sound of it cutting through cloth, exposing more of his skin to air.

He bit down and tasted blood on his lip. The burn of the knife where it cuts into skin.

The girl screamed. Why is she here? “Stop it stop it stop it. Leave him alone.”

“Gag her,” someone said. He couldn't stop shaking. Get her out of here. “The boy too.”

“Oh he'll be quiet enough.” Hands on him, laughter. He wants to fight but he can't. Lisa  
Why is she here? She shouldn't see this.

“Please don't let her look,” he whispered. “I'll do. I'll… what you want...” eight minutes.

There's a… something. A whining sound… not him. Not a person. Low and thrumming. Like a machine charging, going to discharge. What… something was going to happen... Countdown stuttered.

Someone whispered filth in his ear, grabbing his ass, dry fingers shoved in, and he hissed. He knew where this would go… but what was that sound?

A whine again and then a blast, dull concussion. Not a bomb. But there it was. Discharge. Someone screamed. Sharp, cut off fast. A man. Not a kid. The body that was grabbing him collapsed onto him instead, driving the breath from his body, forcing him down, but out of him. Nine minutes.

Dizzy. Blood stink. Voices cursing. The chemical smell of fire.

Where was Lisa? He was mostly naked, jeans around his ankles trapping his legs, blood on his wrists, and there was a body on top of him that's not breathing. He couldn't get the leverage to get out from under it.

It went so quiet so fast. Whimpers. Boots muffled by threadbare carpet and loud in concrete. The whine of the weapon cutting off whimpers before they could be screams. Ten minutes.

“Who are you?” That's Lisa's voice. High and scared. “Don't you hurt my brother.”

“Not this time.” He knows that voice. Distortion like that. He's heard it before. What the fuck?

His head hurts. Everything. The body on him is pushed off hard and furious. Deadweight. Dead on the ground and not in him. Not in him.

There was a hand in his hair. Just there. So careful. A gloved thumb on his neck, rubbing gently.

“Lisa, can you pick the lock on those handcuffs?” The voice said.

“I have a bobbypin,” she replied softly. “I think I can, maybe. Lenny showed me. Are you… are you rescuing us, Mister?” her voice was almost as incredulous as he felt.

“Sure, kid,” the voice is less distorted, more gravely. So familiar… “Let me talk you through it.”

The hand in his hair was so steady, very gently keeping him from moving so he couldn't look up and see who it was while the voice quietly walked Lisa through the steps of opening handcuffs. A sheet drawn over his body, to the shoulders. His arms the only things left bare, stretched out and cuffed. He could almost breathe.

He should have felt trapped with strange hands on him, he should have still been fighting it but he was spent, the terror leaching out of him in waves. The hand in his hair was warm and he could feel Lisa's small fingers fiddling with his wrists. It hurt but not too much. He didn't flinch, didn't want to scare her.

When the locks clicked open and Lisa peeled the cuffs off him they were alone with three dead thugs and a mess of a warehouse. Lisa had tear tracks on her face. Her unicorn sneakers had blood on them. The other… him… he was gone.

Thirty minutes.

“Lise,” he looked her right in the eye. “You are doing so well. Really brave. I'm so sorry you had to see this.” She stopped crying and looked back. Nodded with a jerk.

He wanted to hug her but he just. He couldn't. He pulled the sheet around himself tighter. Tried to think.

“We need to… did you see the payphone outside? I have some quarters in my pocket.”

Lisa shook her head. “You want me to call Dad?” She said in mild disbelief. “He's the one who let those guys get me get me from school.”

Len sighed. That made things make more sense at least. He should have known that last job might be a trigger.

“No, Mick. He got one of those things. A beeper thing. You can call it, get him to call the pay phone number. When you talk to him, um, tell him to bring his equipment. We need to burn hot enough to get rid of um, all this...”

“Ok. But Lenny,” Lisa whispered. “Did a… was that a superhero who saved us? Like… the punisher or something? He had a mask and a suit like a superhero.”

“I don't know,” he whispered back. But that made no sense even in his incoherent skittering, screaming brain. He could see a superhero rescuing Lisa, but he was pretty much trash and knew it. No one was supposed to rescue him.

Something had happened though. “He definitely did some um, hardcore punishing.” Then more certain. “Nothing like this will ever happen to you again, I swear. I have a plan.” And that he was going to make sure of.

Mick was there in his truck at the seventy minute mark. Len just watched while he burned it all down, arms wrapped around himself and Lisa sitting in his lap.

 

In the temporal zone

 

When Len woke up, his head was pounding from the blow and he was still cuffed to the ship with no apparent hope of escape. There was also something weird in his memories that he would have probably missed if he weren't getting used to temporal sickness and how it felt. If the things Chronos had told him weren't making him worry through his thoughts like tongue on a sore tooth.

It hurt, but not awful, like the pleasant burn of a new tattoo, ink on skin. Two sets of memories that started the same way and ended the same way, with fire. Burning the evidence. But the fading one involved breaking a hand to get out of handcuffs while someone's come and his own blood leaked down his thighs and all he could hear was Lisa sobbing. Killing them himself, one by one, later, over months. Gritted through the pain because they couldn't get away with it.

The other one involved less actual rape and more the punisher. Well Chronos, in retrospect.

Len opened his eyes. “I thought you were supposed to punish people fucking with the timeline not do it yourself.”

Mick is looking back at him and he was not alone. He's wearing his Chronos gear again, full face mask. “Pretend I care about supposed to. Look what else I pulled out of the time stream, Snart. Just for you since you like her so goddamn much.”

Sara Lance was standing next to him shaking with fury, with a gun to her head. “Why don't I just kill you and put myself back where I belong?”

Then she looked at Len and the look on her face… Like someone slapped her. Grief, horror, pain. Which didn't make sense, other than being cuffed he was untouched. Just some bruises. Black eye, maybe? He had gotten knocked out. But nothing bad. Nothing to be horrified about.

She looked at him like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Len got it then or thought he did. This was not the Sara he'd last seen on the waverider. Like Chronos wasn't the Mick he had dumped in an open field in a time pocket. He shook his head, no words.

Mick had words. “I'm not that dumb. Blondie, there's a bomb in this room. Won't take me out in my armor but you and Snart would be fucked.”

“What?” Len finally said. And sure why not, he was surprised. He'd threatened Lisa. Anyone else was fair game.

Expect he hadn't. He'd done something else to the timeline that involved Lisa but what it was… it was already slipping through Len's usually lockbox memory. The timeline settling.

Boba Fett… the fucking punisher. A rescue where none had been hoped for.

Didn't matter. No rescue this time. He was literally stuck in this situation and it was on him to figure out how to get himself and Sara out.

“Unless I'm conscious and willing to enter the code every half hour, Lenny here goes kaboom and so do you, Sara. Not my ideal revenge, but it will do in a pinch.”

Len swallowed. Sweat dripped down his neck. Both pairs of eyes were on him. Rage. Trapped.

Be chill. Ice. Captain Cold. “What do you really want with Sara, Mick?” he said. “She doesn't have anything to do with this.” Sure he was locked up, but all handcuffs all had a way to open them eventually.

“It's what you want, Lenny. You want Birdie here? She’s worthy of breaking through the ice for? Fine, then here she is. Go ahead Birdie, he’s hot for you, first time he's been since I've known him. Go ahead and fuck him.” He gestured from Sara to Len with his gun waving between them.

“You're insane if you think I'd do that.” The rage flared again in Sara's eyes. Killing hate. Her hands in fists. She has killed, maimed with those hands.

So had he, with his. But his were trapped. Still. They were still playing Chronos-- Mick’s game.

Mick raged back at Sarah. “I don’t think you’re listening. Fuck him, or I'll kill him. And maybe you too.”

She glared. Small and deadly beautiful. “I don't believe you.”

Mick shrugged. “Right you have some advance knowledge, but the timeline can change. Don’t doubt me.”

“It might but I know you're still Mick Rory under all that conditioning. You're not killing Leonard.” She stepped closer to Mick, who drew back.

They weren't looking at him. His the range of motion in his hands was limited but he had the tools in his sleeve. Just needed time. Which he might not get.

But maybe Sara would. And maybe he could try that plan, the counting on someone else plan.

“Fine. Fuck him, or I'll fuck him and make you watch.” And Mick smirked and moved as if to undo his pants.

“He won't do that either, Sara.” Len said and Mick looked away from her and at him. He was pretty sure. And even if that was wrong he'd rather… she didn't need to be involved. If she was, if Mick got her too... it was as likely to end with Mick dead as any other outcome.

Not going to happen though

“You sound sure of yourself,” Mick said. “For someone all tied up with nowhere to run.”

Len smiled at him, a quirk of lips. “You fucked with my timeline,” he said. Though he couldn't quite remember… almost… wait there it was...missing time. A worried tooth. “To save me. You wanted to fuck me, you could have done it easy. But you don't want to be a rapist.”

Mick stepped up to him closer, close enough to set the hairs on his neck standing up and make him wish he could back off. That smile was all Chronos, dreaming of revenge. “You only remember the timelines I let settle, Snart. Maybe there was one where I just watched. Maybe there was one where I watched them and then took you myself for round four when you were sloppy and fucked out. Made you scream, made you bleed, made you too hoarse to beg me to stop. Made her watch. Maybe I didn't let you get away after. Maybe I kept you.”

“Maybe there was. Maybe there wasn't. Wasn't what you were looking for anyway. That timeline isn't the one that settled.” Easy confidence was a game, a projection. Len looked at Mick, not Sara because if he did Mick would remember she was there and her hands were free.

Mick was close, breathing in his face close, and then a crash, and he was down, felled like a tree. Sara's aim was perfect, he didn't fall on Len. She stood over him with a look of mixed worry and disdain.

“Did he-- are you--”

“Peachy,” Len said with raised eyebrows and a faint smile. “Better if you could get me out of these.” He nodded at his cuffed hands.

She gave a tight nod. “Any idea of where he might have stashed the keys? Or codes?”

He shook his head. “No, but I'm pretty sure the League taught you your way around a lockpick.” He shifted over. “Picks are under my sleeve. I could do it myself but not sure how much time we have. Twenty minutes?”

She nodded. He made himself relax when she rolled down the sleeve for the picks. Steady breaths, in and out. Out and in. She spoke softly to him through it. A murmured, “Here I go, going to touch your wrist, can you shift your arm? Beautiful, just like that… perfect, thank you.” Like she was talking to a safe she was cracking.

Her fingers didn't linger on his forearm, with the pattern of round, silvery burn scars, defensive wounds, knives and broken glass, and the rings of handcuffs kept on too long and fought too hard.

She cursed softly, once. Then went back to work on getting him loose.

“Do you think he actually booby trapped this place?” She asked. Her fingers moved, quick and clever. She still didn't touch his skin any more than necessary.

Her mouth was so close. Fingers. All he could think about was how close she was. Close enough to touch.

It was almost like he wanted her to touch.

Different. That was different. He shrugged. “Kill the hostages? Sure. He's done it before. We have about fifteen minutes if he did.”

“Kill you,” she replied. “He hasn’t done that before.” The strands of her hair brushed over his cheek. Gentle.

“Maybe. I'm a little… out of joint with time right now. I don't think so but I wouldn’t bet your life on it, Sara.”

A whirr and the cuffs released him. He let himself close his eyes at the sudden freedom. She was watching, so he couldn't… had to keep it together.

She leaned over him and he tried to regulate his breathing. “Hey, crook,” she whispered. There were no hands on him. He forced himself not to wrap his own around his stomach. “You here with me?”

“Yeah. Still peachy.” He shrugged a shoulder. This was nothing. Pretty, deadly girl of his dreams. This was someone's fantasy. Right next to the temporarily unconscious body of his oldest friend. His oldest… something else... maybe, maybe, if things were different if he could figure out how to be different.

Someone's fantasy.

Mick's apparently, since the fucker had been planning on directing.

Len was the one with his arms wrapped around himself like an idiot. At least he wasn't rocking back and forth.

Except he'd imagined this fantasy too, though not quite like this. Thought about… wanted it.

“Well, he's trying a different approach at least,” he said it loud. He sounded steadier than he'd expected.

“Do I want to know what he tried before?” she shook her head.

“Nah. Hey. We've got ten minutes, if he…” but then Mick was groaning swaying. Rubbing his head.

Sara had a weapon in her hands, out and ready.

“I'm awake, you assholes,” he groaned. And then, at Len. “Is this what you wanted?”

“No?” he said, “Which part was supposed to be the fun one?”

Mick shrugged, then groaned like that hurt. Good. “Don't you want to kiss her at least?”

Len raised an eyebrow. Sara just shrugged and shook her head, gun still in her hand.

He sighed. “This is undeniably stupid,” Len said. “What do you want, Mick?”

“I don't know. Not that it matters anyway.” Mick rubbed his head. “I'm tired of being hit in the head.”

“Cognitive recalibration,” Sara said and laughed. “Works just like in the movies.”

“They didn't have to brainwash me very hard,” Mick replied. “I wanted to go after you. Him.” He looked at Len. “I wanted… I always wanted to. There is not a bomb in this room, ok?”

“I didn't think so. Oh for… you want to have a heart to heart? Now?” Len said even though Mick hadn’t said anything quite like that. “Ok. Here you go. It's not you, it's me, Mick. You may have missed this, but there's something wrong with me. I am fucked in the head.”

Mick shrugged. “So am I?”

“I want to… I want to want this, ok? I am not… I don’t know how.”

“I have no idea what you're saying.” Mick responded. Bitter. Not Chronos bitter but not great.

There had to be something he could say. “Mick… when did you lose your virginity?”

“Colleen Evans. In the parking lot during a football game. She was hot. Pink jeans with rhinestones on the ass. I was sixteen. Why?”

“Sara? What about you?”

“Tommy Merlyn in the guesthouse with way too many scented candles. He was not bad. Been around the block enough not to come in five seconds. The candles smelled like ass, though. Fifteen, beat you Rory.”

“So? When did you lose yours, boss?”

Len shrugged, palms forward. “I beat you both. I don't know when I lost it. I don't remember having it. Virginity.”

“That's ridiculous. You remember everything,” Mick said.

Len shook his head. “Not that far back, no. I don't. I have no idea. It's gone, I never had it to give. There's nothing I had worth money that he didn't sell.”

Sara's eyes were too wide and she put her hand over her mouth.

He gestured angrily. “Don't-- Sara, no. Stop, that's not the point. We all had shit in our childhoods, this isn't a contest. I'm just… I don't know how. I know how to sell it. I know how to have it taken. I don't know how to just… give it. Want it. And there's no indication I'm going to figure it out if I haven't by now.”

“Wait, didn't you and Blondie?” Mick gestured sharply between the two of them.

Len shook his head. “I wanted to try though? To see if it might be possible. I just needed to figure out how.”

“Wanted?” Sara whispered.

He shook his head. “No. Want. I do want to try. Can I try?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. Please. Please do.”

So he kissed her. And she kissed him.

The fine strands of her hair covered his face, hiding it from view. He closed his eyes. Her lips brushed over his, exquisitely gentle. The taste of her was… it was.

Her hands were on his face and he could hear the harsh rasp of Mick's breath.

It didn't hurt. It didn't feel like nothing, like cold and control. It felt… he felt…

Mick was watching them. He could feel the heat of his eyes. The hunger in it. Mick brought her here because he thought that was what Len wanted.

Len looked back at him. No idea what was on his face.

“Mick,” he said. “Mick, my oldest friend. Partner. Can I please? Can I try? I want to try.”

Mick's eyes went wide, real surprise and he nodded, swallowed hard enough for it to be visible.

So he kissed him. It wasn't gentle, especially. Too much time and waiting in it. The smell was different. Chronos. But a warm mouth and a hand carefully pressed against the nape of his neck rubbing back and forth in assurance of safety.

He kissed Sara again, after. Just a kiss, a touch. Above the waist.

“I will kill him,” Sara murmured against his mouth. Her hands dug into his shoulders hard and bracing. “I will rip his head off and give it to you in a bag.”

It took him a minute to figure out what she meant. “I did that already. Killed him. Don't you dare go back and try to take that from me.”

She nodded. He kissed Mick again then. Both of them were closer. Next to him. He wasn't… it wasn't hard to breathe. He didn't want to get away.

Later, Sara caught him, before Mick put her back into her timeline. Words soft and intent. “Leonard. Len. This is important. The Oculus has a fail safe. You need to plan for it.”

“The what?” He mumbled. He was almost incoherent with sensation, still. Her words didn't make any sense.

“A fail safe. It needs contact to be destroyed. Ok?” she was intent. He wondered if… when where. If…

“Ok,” he said.

“I want to see you again,” she said.

“Ok,” he agreed. “Yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just the happy ending. Gooey, not porny. 
> 
> The next part of the series fits in directly before this but this closes out this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular warnings. Timey-whimey stuff.

The vanishing point

The Oculus doesn't want to let him go. He can feel it even when he jams the fail safe that future Sara warned him about and made a run for it.

It reaches for him, obliterating screaming Time Masters with it's hungry, burning tentacles. Faster than the cops on his tail after the perfect heist. Faster than the Flash because it actually wants to catch him.

But he wants to live. He wants to find out what happens next. Just not if the rest of them have to die.

It burns where it touches him and he thinks of Mick and his fire. I'm not a thing that's for touching, not in a long time, he tells it. There are no strings on me.

He thinks of Sara and the grace of her kiss. He's a master thief, he can steal his own life.

It reaches for him and he says no and he falls and falls and falls for a long time. It doesn't burn him, but the concussive blast pushes him out and forward. Shoved through the timestream as if by force. And time slips, so fast, so hard, hot and hungry all through him. He pushes and shoves and wiggles away, remembering too much, things that happened, that might have happened, that will never happen.

It's in front of him, and the force that was contained in the Oculus is under his fingertips. Like paints, like patterns. Sequences.

What could have happened. Chronos had done this. Gone through his timeline and changed things, given him a hope of rescue, a hand in the dark. Just enough that now Leonard could see his way to changing more.

A green eyed girl he almost but didn't meet at not quite eighteen who would have pushed him on a different course. A little less cold. Afraid.

She would have told him something important on a Palo Alto rooftop when they were 20 and she would have kissed him and he would have felt free. Something about sequences and time travel.

And if he pushes time this way that will happen.

A guy he did meet once at 23, half angry, half daring him to do something but he hadn't. Instead he'd read a book about tantra and holy chastity which was not the same as virginity and he hadn't said anything but he liked it. The idea of being purely consumed by the game, the plan, the glory of adrenaline and putting everything he was into that. 

His sister had called him a nun, half jokingly, but it felt right. Like he was inviolate. Cold and untouchable.

And he could hurt people, and he could take from them and he could steal beauty and hold it in his hands and nothing could touch him back. And that wasn't what the book meant but it felt true.

But if he had known that girl first, it would have been less of a jump into a black hole and more like diving off a cliff when that was the plan and he had his gear on him. To touch back.

And he would have followed that dare into an alley, a pair of dark eyes, broad shoulders and slim thighs. And it would not have been gentle but still safe enough. And he could have had that. 

A woman at thirty, in expensive heels and subtle perfume.

A chess game with a guy just got home from Iraq who smelled of nightmares and booze, like Lewis had once.

It wouldn't always have gone well. It would have hurt.

He can't change too much. Just enough to loosen the cage he'd wrapped himself in. Inviolate, yes, but trapped and pinned and unsure how to move forward.

He couldn't push the threads enough to have offered a hand to Mick when he was fourteen, sixteen, eighteen, anytime. That would have changed the timeline enough that he may never have found his way to the Oculus to make the change in the first place.

There's a narrow way through the dark.

He can find it now. He has the keys to his prison in his hands and the means and the help to open it. 

Finally, finally, he picks through the threads and sequences of the Oculus dreams to what is happening right now. The mathematical map that the green eyed girl he'd let himself love had explained to him all those years ago, watching the northern California dusk settle.

And then. Then he is free.

He comes to with a scream, alive and in the center of blast zone that looks like it's been derelict for years. Nothing but remnants and stale recycled air. Like the remnants of a battlefield after the bodies rotted away and the shell craters were all that was left.

He stays where he is for a while, just breathing, exhausted. Waiting.

It's not long though. The waiting. He’s been waiting for such a long time, but it’s almost over. He hears voices. Familiar.

“Come on, Blondie, it's not much further.” And that was Mick, eager, like he's on a job and high on adrenaline. Excited. The stomp of his boots. Hopeful.

“Right,” came Sara's voice, and she sounded just as excited, voice alight with anticipation and hope. He lets the relief hit him, shaking with it. The sound of her footsteps, real and steady.

They expect him to be here.

Len lets the words tune in and out until it's not just words and they're in the room with him. Sara kneels down next to where he's sitting and Mick on his other side. Warm. 

There's space between them. Not much, a narrow way. But space. Any space maybe, for the first time in too long, is too much distance. 

“I didn't die,” he tells them. “I don't think. It didn't want to let me get out, but I did.”

“No, boss, you didn’t die,” Mick tells him and there’s relief reflected back at him. And grief and exhaustion and a thousand other things that don’t matter anymore, at least not right now. “Blondie was sure you’d be here. Your college girl told us when. She said it was all in the math.” 

“Yeah. Sequences,” he says. “Do you have anything to drink? I can't remember the last time I was this thirsty.”

“Of course. How are you feeling?” Sara asks.

“Tired,” he says. “Cold.” A quirk of a smile. “Peachy-- well, not bad, actually. Alive.”

 

After, on the waverider

 

“I'm ready for my raincheck,” he said and Sara smiled at him like she could cry instead and Mick looked gruff and tired and started to stand up like he's going to go somewhere. Len grabbed him by the wrist, agile and fast. A thief’s hand, too fast to see. Solid. 

“Lenny,” Mick said, like he doesn't understand what that means, that Len has a hand around his hand and is holding on.

“You too, you idiot,” Len muttered. “You've been waiting how long for me to figure this out? Unless you've changed your mind…”

Mick was staring at him, mouth hanging open a little. Then he closed it and nodded. And carefully, so carefully, he let his hand twist around so that his gloved fingers were loosely wrapped around Len's wrist too.

“I didn't change my mind. But I did fuck you over,” Mick said. “You didn't like it.”

“I hurt you plenty.” Len shrugged. “We both did what we did to get us to this point.”

Sara just smiled, waiting. He took her hand too. 

She was so careful with him that he almost couldn't breathe. 

“I'm not a damsel, Sara,” he told her smiling a little.

“You're the thief who stole my attention,” she whispered back and then kissed him. “I know what it's like to own nothing, not even yourself,” she said, that aching gentleness again, words pressed into his lips.

“And now I know what it's like to steal everything back,” he said. And he found that he did.


End file.
